


MonsterFest 2020

by moth2fic



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work, Stargate Universe
Genre: Ficlets for Monsterfest, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: This is a series of very short fics I wrote for ushobwri's October Monsterfest this year. There are also some bits and pieces including poems from my website which I linked and recced. Some of the fics are for specific fandoms (mentioned at the start of each chapter). Others are related to more than one fandom. There is also original work with fannish tropes.
Relationships: various
Comments: 17
Kudos: 3
Collections: Shoobie Monster Fest





	1. Ghost Sounds

_This is a 'true' story but can also be read as a contribution to various WWII fandoms. Offered for the prompt Ghosts, Ghouls and Wraith but it was already on my website._

A few years ago we went on a long trip that took us from Harwich in UK to Hamburg in Germany and then along the Baltic coast into Poland until we reached the eastern border. We alternated between camping and staying in small hotels or B&Bs. At the border we turned inland and decided to visit the Wolf’s Lair, Hitler’s military headquarters on the ‘eastern front’ where he planned a lot of his campaigns. At the time, I knew very little about it, being more familiar with Berchtesgaden in Bavaria and the V1 and V2 launch complexes in northern France. We found ourselves booking to stay on the campsite inside the complex. This meant we got the campsite ‘free’ as part of our ticket and could explore the site before the main tourist influx in the morning, both of which benefits appealed. However, once we had registered, the gates were locked and we were stuck with the bar etc. they provided. We could have walked out of the site but the car was effectively imprisoned overnight. The nearest village was quite a distance and of course we had no idea whether it would be worth the walk. It wasn’t a particularly good campsite (inadequate hot water) but we settled down after eating at the bar. Poor food but we didn’t starve. I still knew nothing about the place other than the fact that it existed.

During the night I awoke several times, aroused by noise. I am virtually certain I was actually awake and not dreaming, though I have no such certainties about the actual source of the noise. There were two types of noise. One was very loud barking by a group of dogs – large breeds judging by the pitch of the sound. The other was the noise of trains, arriving, slowing, stopping, and then leaving. Neither sound was accompanied by anything else – no ‘visuals’ and nothing to suggest any kind of story. Nor did I hear any kind of conversation. 

In the morning, I complained about the dogs and we realised that there were none on the site and that the nearest farm was too far away for me to have heard their dogs so clearly under any kind of weather conditions. As we walked around the site I saw rail tracks and thought fleetingly that they might explain the trains. But they were overgrown with grass and ended at the border of the complex. There were no railways in use anywhere near the site. I read about the site and how it was used later, both on the way round through the explanations at each of the ruins, and in booklets we bought and were given. Yes, there were guard dogs, and yes, there were trains. I suppose I might have thought of both in advance but neither were things I would necessarily have associated with headquarters of this kind. Most of my reading had suggested Hitler’s staff travelled by car and that guards would have been soldiers. It was only when we learnt how massive the headquarters was that I realised that the dogs and trains made sense. And that only happened when we toured the complex after a broken night’s sleep. 

A nice finishing touch to the experience was seeing and hearing a (very live) raven sitting on a tree opposite the ruins of Hitler’s bunker. He seemed to be expressing an avian opinion of the entire thing.


	2. Mermaids beware!

_This ficlet can be read as Little Mermaid fanfic but it was partly inspired by a poem I read, and have been unable to find, about sailors catching mermaids and keeping them in captivity. Written for the prompt Mermaids and Sirens._

She heard the singing before she reached the rocks. Her parents had always told her not to listen to the melodies that carried from the edge of the bay. She had always tossed her head, her hair swirling, and said she’d listen to what she liked. They’d shaken their own heads sadly and warned her not to blame them for the consequences.

She thought the singers were children; they looked very young. Between songs, they giggled, their heads close together and their shoulders shaking with mirth. What possible harm could they do her?

She edged closer and listened, concentrating on the words, which she didn’t quite understand, and the tune, which penetrated her bones and her soul. 

Then she heard them chattering:

‘My mum says it’s bound to bring them.’

‘My dad says that too, but what shall we do with them if they come?’

‘Cook them and eat them for tea?’

‘Eat them?’

‘Well, they’re a kind of fish, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, but has anyone got any matches?’

There was much muttering then to her relief she heard:

‘That settles that, then. No matches so no fire so no cooking.’

‘We could try them raw.’

‘Ee-u-ww.’ (That came from two or three throats at once.)

‘We could take one home.’

A pause, then:

‘I don’t think my mum would be best pleased.’

‘Mine neither and anyway, they’d likely be hard to carry. All those slippery scales.’

‘And a dead weight, too, ‘cos they die if they’re out of their element too long. Dad says.’

They giggled again and slipped away from the rocks. They sang as they went and she heard their voices fade into the distance.

Vowing never to listen to the lure from the rocks again, the mermaid slid back into deeper water and swam for home.


	3. Do fairies believe in witches?

_Fairy tale fandoms in general here. Children discuss witches. But these are fae children and they decided to talk to me. The prompt was Folklore (witches, fairies, etc.) If you want to know more about my fae stories, see my website, jaymountney.com_

‘I think Nana was a witch.’ Cocklebur looked around expecting agreement.

‘Was?’ That was one of the cubs. ‘She’s still alive, you know. Just because the leprechauns chased her away doesn’t mean she’s gone. She’s only gone from the Edge.’

‘Ugh. So somebody else is suffering.’

‘Probably,’ said Briony. ‘But so long as it isn’t us...’

Her twin interrupted. ‘But she didn’t have a black hat or a cauldron,’ he said. ‘Or a broomstick that I ever saw.’

‘Hats and pots and brooms don’t make witches,’ said Cocklebur.

‘Moth says,’ began Alecrim, then stopped.

‘Moth was talking about the witches in Shakespeare,’ said Briony. ‘And she should know because our mother named her, Peasblossom and Cobweb for characters in a Shakespeare play. I’m surprised I didn’t end up as Juliet.’

‘But,’ said Willow, ‘she only told us to beware of anyone with a pointed hat or a broomstick.’

'She told us to beware of gingerbread cottages, too,’ Cocklebur pointed out. ‘I’m pretty sure she was making some kind of grown up joke. And have any of you ever seen a gingerbread cottage in the woods?’

‘It would melt and go all soggy,’ said one of the cubs, possibly Furze though it was hard to tell the quadruplets apart. Most of the fae children screwed up their faces in grimaces of disgust at the thought of damp gingerbread. 

‘Witches use spells,’ said Briony, thoughtfully. ‘But then so do we, and we aren’t witches.’

‘Witches use bad spells,’ said Alecrim. As the youngest of the refugee children she tended to spend most of her time with the native fae. ‘We had witches in Portugal, I think, but they were human.’

‘Nana isn’t human.’ A note of doubt had crept into Cocklebur’s voice.

‘And she didn’t use spells, just rumours and persuasion and general nastiness,’ said Briony, as if that settled the matter. 

‘And,’ said Willow, determined not to be outdone by his twin sister, ‘our spells can easily be used for either good or bad. That still doesn’t make us witches.’

‘All the same,’ said Briony, ‘I won’t go too near anyone with a pointed hat and a broomstick.’

‘And I wouldn’t go too near Nana, either,’ said Cocklebur, and this time everybody nodded.


	4. Goblin haikus

_Fairy tales again. This set of haikus is from an RPG I was in. I drew on various goblin stories, good, bad, and ugly! The haikus were on my website and I offered them along with the previous ficlet for the same prompt._

A goblin wishes for love

Hair as green as leaves  
Tangled like curling spring ferns  
Round a grinning face. 

Eyes as big as moons,  
Deep as the dark Cannis Sea,  
Full of wild mischief. 

Teeth as sharp as rocks  
In a mouth wide as the sky;  
Lips open for me. 

Arms, thin, taut as wire  
And hands like soft twig brushes  
Caressing my face. 

In my dreams you walk.  
Where shall I find you in life,  
My goblin sweetheart?

_My RPG goblin sketched his heart's desire..._


	5. Who is the alien?

_I had various planets from SGA, SG1 and Star Trek in mind when I wrote this. I was also thinking of how my terrorist is your freedom fighter (and vice versa of course). The prompt was Aliens._

Creatures great and small

For millennia they lived in peace. They talked occasionally, using the underground network that connected them. They enjoyed the sunshine and drank the rain. They shared the world with ephemeral flying beings which sometimes helped and more often annoyed them, but never to any great extent either way. Sometimes, in their slow discussions, they considered whether there might be intelligent life out among the stars, and whether, for that matter, those stars were more than mere beauty to be admired. 

Then the aliens arrived.

At first, they thought all would be well. Probably the invaders would simply help or irritate, like the flying things that were of no real account. 

The day the aliens killed one of them was the day their perception of the universe changed. There seemed no way to negotiate, to let the murderers know they were a sentient species, and that their lives were both long and precious. The aliens had no communication network that they could sense, or if they had, it was one that did not connect with their own. 

The killings continued sporadically, seemingly at random. Each new group killed a few and used their bodies as building material. Then they usually settled down until the next ones arrived. And arrive they did, regularly, in huge ships that flew through the skies and landed heavily on the earth creating vast tremors. It was hard to work out how they lived, how they communicated with each other, and what they wanted. They were clearly highly intelligent, capable of space travel and of finding new worlds to colonise.

Travel was something previously only associated with the flying things, which had never seemed to be particularly intelligent. But this travel, between the stars, was of another order entirely. For them, travel was impossible, against their nature, though travel through the ages was perhaps something to be proud of.

So they pondered. How could they make contact with this new species? How long would it take? Would they face hostility or would the aliens share their desire to live in peace?

Meanwhile, there was an added annoyance, nothing like the killings but irritating and humiliating in equal measure.  
The aliens brought small creatures with them. Living things with a little intelligence but not much. They did not fly, and they neither helped nor drilled irritating holes. What they did was to climb, and to scratch. 

After some discussion, the consensus was that they couldn’t possibly do this kind of thing to the aliens because nobody could bear it on a continued basis. It was possible they were stowaways on the alien ships. Shrugging them off didn’t seem useful since they simply climbed, and scratched, again. 

If they ever talked with the aliens there would have to be a treaty of some kind. They still hadn’t reached any conclusions about how to put across their demands. But they would, even if it took a few more centuries to work out how. 

The killings would have to stop, of course, but also, there would have to be a plan to exterminate the small climbing things. And perhaps the aliens would welcome the suggestion. But perhaps not, because they’d noticed the aliens seemed to feed the small things, especially when the creatures wrapped themselves around the larger aliens’ legs. And once, someone saw one climb an alien and end up in its upper limbs. A few of them heard a soft rumbling noise. Strange. But the little ones, even if popular, would definitely have to go.


	6. Dragons of fantasy

_A ficlet and a poem this time. The prompt was Mythological (dragons, rhakshasa, etc.)The ficlet is about Pern, obviously._

Being littlest and least.

It sucked being the youngest dragon.

The older ones teased him. Occasionally they gave him treats: a slice of fresh liver from a herdbeast; an invitation to sun himself on an upper ledge. But mostly they teased, laughing about his size, his extreme youth, and what they saw as his need for protection.

Not that he was all that much younger than them. Than his clutch-mates, anyway. Just because he’d taken an hour longer to hatch...

His rider, of course, treated him with suitable respect, but then his rider was young, too, and endured similar teasing from his friends and colleagues. 

They had the lowest chamber. Whatever they did, working hard at all tasks, was never enough to gain praise. Or perhaps sometimes they would get faint praise when someone said:

‘Not bad for a little one.’

They were not allowed to do anything interesting and that would be the case for a while.

He mindspoke D’lan, his rider. Not actually his rider yet because he was too small to carry the boy. How long did D’lan think this state of affairs would last?

D’lan didn’t know. He didn’t care as much as Hazor did, because he was just proud to be a rider or rider in training, and he loved Hazor very much indeed. That came across strongly and they were getting better at communicating. Meanwhile he enjoyed bathing and oiling the dragon’s scales. Hazor enjoyed that too. 

But Hazor wanted to fight thread. He dreamed of the day when he and D’lan would be celebrated as heroes, and of course, of the day they turned the tide in protecting Pern.

He screwed up his courage and asked his mother. She wasn’t very maternal. Once she’d seen all her eggs hatch, the great golden dragon had gone back to mating with the bronzes and helping them fight. She mostly ignored her offspring, which was hardly surprising since almost every dragon in the weir was her child.

‘How long before I can fight thread?’ he asked. 

She stared at him and her answer was gentle but implacable. ‘When you’re grown up.’ she said.

‘We’re growing up together and we might as well enjoy the process,’ D’lan told him. 

But Hazor was impatient, and it sucked being the littlest and least of the dragons. 

*****

 _And now a poem I wrote referencing SGA, Pern and Star Wars. This was already on my website._

When they were fighting thread and dying, when they were going between and tiring,  
When they were squabbling and sighing, the other dragons came rushing, flying  
Out of the stars, out of the skies, trumpeting softly, rolling their eyes,  
Teaching them how to be better and braver and how to preserve their fine planet for ever.  
Dragons and riders and lizards all bowed to the dragons who came in a shimmering cloud.

When they were fighting the Wraith and dying, when they were rushing through gates and tiring,  
When they were studying hard and sighing, a cloud of dragons came rushing, flying  
Out of the stars, out of the skies, trumpeting softly, rolling their eyes,  
Teaching them how to be better and stronger, how to defeat the Wraith for longer.  
Scientists, airmen, all gave praise to the dragons who’d helped extend their days.

When they were fighting each other and dying, when they were rebels, outlaws, tiring,  
When they were giving up hope and sighing, the alien dragons came rushing, flying,  
Out of the stars, out of the skies, trumpeting softly, rolling their eyes,  
Teaching them how to be better and smarter, how to defeat an old empire and rule there.  
Warriors, robots and royalty all gave thanks to the dragons who’d answered their call.

Then the dragons who came from the alien worlds looked at the people they’d lulled with their help,  
Bowed to the north and bowed to the east, bowed to each other and began their feast.


	7. An alpha predator

_What would it take to make the Wraith in SGA afraid? And might there be more to the colonisation of Atlantis than was intended? Prompt: Undead (vampires, zombies, etc.)_

Unintentional saviours.

When the Wraith began their predation on humans, galaxy wide, they knew they were the alpha predators and had nothing to fear. Later, after the new Atlanteans appeared on the scene, despite seeing the newcomers as prey, they were happy to co-operate to fight the novel threat the Replicators posed.

What had never occurred to them was that there might be even more dangerous creatures brought to Pegasus by the Terrans. Not deliberately; they were pretty sure about that. The Terrans were unwitting enablers of this extraordinary invasion.

Somehow, among the soldiers and scientists of the expedition, a few of what the Wraith came to call the Old Ones managed to slip through all the vetting and security. Fortunately for everyone, there were not many of them.

However, there were enough to create real problems. The first inkling that there was anything wrong came in a distress call from a hive ship. The ship’s queen was almost babbling. There was something on board, something that moved so fast even a Wraith couldn’t see it. To begin with they thought they’d captured a soldier with some kind of enhanced abilities and it had broken free from its cocoon. There was certainly an empty and shredded cell. But whatever it was did not show any normal military tendencies. Instead, it was reducing the ship’s complement one by one, using no weapons except, presumably, its teeth. They now thought it had maybe been ‘caught’ deliberately.

Every time a body was discovered it was drained of fluid and there were prominent bite marks on its neck. It was a horrible parody of the way the Wraith themselves fed on their prey. Whatever it was didn’t take its victims’ weapons, just their life force.

Now the Wraith knew how it felt to be at the mercy of a stronger creature, and they didn’t appreciate it at all but so far as they knew, there was only one, for the time being.

Research suggested the thing was Terran. So next time they captured a live Terran the Wraith scientists did a lot of interrogation. Their prisoner didn’t seem to believe what he was hearing but admitted that there were stories...

It would, apparently, be no good trying to catch and feed from the creature. It would probably return the compliment by sinking its fangs into whatever Wraith tried it. Plus, he said, it had the secret of eternal youth, at least while it lived its shadowy half life. It would, on the other hand, be good to feed from if they could manage it because it would not die, and increasing age would probably only amuse it. The only way to kill it, the Terran captive said, was to cut off its head and bury it at a crossroads with a stake through its heart. At least, that’s roughly what they understood.

Much discussion ensued as where a suitable crossroads might be found but then they would have to catch it first. Moreover, they weren’t sure whether the stake had to be of wood, or whether other materials might be adequate.

They also understood that here was an explanation for some hitherto unsolved and mysterious deaths on Atlantis, ones that had been put down to accidents with Ancient machinery. The captive had been incredulous at first then started to recall incidents that had never had a satisfactory resolution. The Vampires, or Old Ones, were not common, they heard. But they existed. The Wraith could attest to that though their captive was still sceptical. They didn’t exactly breed. At least, they did, but only by creating new members through feeding. So Wraith Vampires would be a distinct possibility.

For the moment they would have to learn to live with the threat. They would be on their guard and they were so grateful to their prisoner that they gave him a quick and easy death.

It certainly made them think twice and more than twice about going anywhere near Terra. Even if they culled every last person on the planet, these Old Ones would remain and multiply. The Terrans could thank their Old Ones for something, after all.


	8. The Prince in the Forest

_In homage to any and every werewolf or shifter book or movie. Prompt: Shapeshifters._

Leon’s parents were making him angry. His father might be the Alpha of the whole extended regional pack, and his mother the one who supported her husband and kept him in order. That didn’t stop them being totally exasperating and inconsistent.

‘Marry? You said...’ Leon almost snarled the words.

‘We said there was time, but we’ve found the perfect mate for you.’ His father sounded smug.

‘You said there was no need. That it wasn’t necessary for me to produce yet another heir. That my brother’s growing family was enough.’ He wasn’t quite sure whether to go with fury or despair.

‘And so it is, but we do want you settled and happy.’ That was his mother, conciliatory as usual but, also as usual, with a core of steel.

‘How can I be happy if...?’

‘We’ve taken account of your preferences. And your betrothed is arriving tonight. Get ready to meet him, first as a human then both of you in your shifted forms.’ Once the Alpha had spoken in that tone there was nothing to be done.

Leon had always known any marriage would be an arranged one. He was royalty, after all, and must bow to political necessity. But a mate arriving the evening of the day he’d been apprised of the situation? He felt sick with nerves. His parents had taken account of his preferences, had they? Did they even know what those were?

It appeared they did. The young man who walked into the hall was perfect in every respect. His confident bearing was an assurance that he was a scion of a noble family; his lean figure and blond hair were instantly appealing. Last but by no means least, he was male. Leon found himself salivating and hoped this really was his intended mate and not a messenger or, worse, a hallucination.  
After a formal introduction Rex bowed. Then he smiled and the moon shone in his green eyes. 

‘I think you’ve only just heard about me,’ he said. ‘And I only heard about you yesterday. Our parents have moved quickly and secretly to match us. I hope we can work as quickly to prove them either right or wrong.’

‘I hope so too.’ Leon could think of little else to say. There seemed to be leeway there; surely if they were wrong, both young men complaining in concert would make them see sense? He imagined them howling at the moon together then composed himself.  
‘And now,’ Rex continued, ‘I believe we shift and see if our other forms are compatible.’

As he spoke, his face and body underwent the familiar tremors and Leon saw a white wolf at his knees, looking up at him with those glorious eyes. He changed quickly, glad he could be proud of his own thick dark pelt and strong frame. He sensed Rex’s approval and led the way to the doors at the side of the hall.

These were open, and the forest beckoned. Leon led the way, and thought he had never loved his parents as much as he did now. They had found a perfect mate indeed. They were of a similar age, and would inevitably share interests in sports, hunting, and nature. And those looks...

He was almost euphoric. He had never expected to find another male shifter to suit him and also suit his royal constraints. But here was Rex, and together they could make the woods ring with their happiness. His wolf persona didn’t question the rightness of the immediate attraction, just accepted it with complete contentment. 

There was a fleeting moment when he remembered that in his human form he would take much longer to get to know this stranger. That hardly mattered because during their human courtship they would have all the time they needed and the support of their families. Here and now, in their fur and youth, they were well matched and the future danced ahead of them in the moonlight.


	9. A dog's life

_I set this story in Dr Who but I was also thinking of AI:Articficial Intelligence. The prompt was Experiments (Frankenstein’s monster, radioactive spiders, Jekyll & Hyde, etc.) and I started thinking of things that could go either wrong or at least not according to plan._

He couldn’t believe it.

K-105 had been created, he knew, to be empathetic, to nurture and comfort whoever he was assigned to. But his own emotions didn’t, shouldn’t, exist. Yet tears were streaming down his cheeks and his first thought was not worry about the effect of salt water on his metal casing, but concern for his assignee, Adam.

Adam, who now lay in a pool of blood beside the road, the car that had hit him a mere speck in the distance.  
Automatically, he alerted his handlers. Automatically he cleaned up the accident site. Then he waited for someone to collect him, and deal with Adam’s body.

‘We’ll find you someone else to care for.’

Why did those words, even spoken by the Doctor, sound more like a death knell than a promise? He must have spoken aloud because the Doctor was clearly puzzled.

‘You were attached to Adam? Well, we’ve come a long way since K-9 and we were trying to build in emotion, but we had no idea we’d succeeded.’

*****

Belinda seemed delighted with her K-bot. ‘I’ll take great care of it,’ she promised, but K-105 remembered that Adam had used the pronouns he/him when referring to him, and had looked quickly at the K-105 label and laughed.

‘So I’ll call you Kios,’ he had said, and the delight of the moment was permanently saved in Kios’ admittedly vast working memory.

Belinda didn’t seem at all inclined to treat him as a person, or rather as a dog. But he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Adam had triggered a change.

Why else would he be growing hair on his paws, and why else would he feel an intense urge to wag his slowly emerging tail when dinner was ready?

He shouldn’t even want human food. Or pet food come to that. But he’d tried Sooty’s kibble and it was delicious. (Sooty was Belinda’s cat.) He had no idea how digestion would even work for him but so far there were no ill effects.

He overheard Belinda talking to her boyfriend, Luke, who said, ‘You ought to pay more attention to that K-bot you’ve got. They’re supposed to be supportive companions, not toys to be left in the corner all day.’

‘It won’t mind. It’s just a machine, after all. Sooty is much more soothing to stroke.’ Belinda’s voice was casual and smug.

Kios rifled through his memory and found a lot of references to inter-human violence, violence from pets towards humans, and a ban on robots using any violence at all. But he wasn’t at all sure where he fitted in all the various definitions. Would it be totally illegal (and would he find it worthwhile anyway) for him to bite Belinda?


End file.
